Tanys Defiant
By Andrew Hunter
Copyright 2010 Andrew Hunter
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Chapter 1
Polar winds blasted through the narrow, treeless valley of the Nedorran Pass. Flurries of snow whirled down between the high rock walls and buffeted the naked faces of the human captives whose boots slipped and scuffed across the ice as the troll raiders dragged them northward toward an unknown fate. Four warriors of the Raven Tribe staggered in a ragged line, tethered together by thick leather cords stretched from around the neck of each to the bound hands of the prisoner in front of them. Three of them, tall blonde bearded giants of northern stock, leaned into the wind, heads down as they walked. The fourth held her head high, her long black hair streaming like a banner behind her. Her vibrant green eyes narrowed, searching the white wasteland for any landmarks that might lead her back when an opportunity for escape presented itself. Wrapped tightly in the thin leather and furs of a scout that revealed the feminine curves of her lean frame, Tanys’ limbs ached as the arctic cold leeched out the last of her body’s warmth. She knew her strength would not last much longer, and yet she glared defiantly at her inhuman captors, and would not give them the pleasure of seeing her lose hope.
The trolls had come in the night, as they always did, taking her hunting party by surprise. Though she was a head shorter than the men of her tribe, Tanys stood a foot or two taller than the trolls. The monsters had appeared suddenly around their campfire the previous night. The Raven Tribe’s hunting party might easily have dispatched the five trolls with axe and sword, had there not been a warlock among them. Tanys shuddered to recall the moment when the warlock’s spell had robbed her and her companions of all strength, and her blades had been taken from her as easily as one might snatch a toy from a toddling babe.
The hunch-backed warlock alone among the trolls wore clothing, if only a dirty shift and a bone necklace to mark his rank. The others wore only threadbare loincloths and knife belts with wineskins slung over their bare shoulders. Their oily gray skin glistened in the pale light, seemingly impervious to the cold. Indeed the trolls’ bodies seemed to radiate a constant heat that melted the snow as it touched their skin. As cold as she was, Tanys would have tried to get closer to one, had it not been for their overwhelmingly sour stench. Not only their gray skin marked them as devilkin but also their three-fingered hands and cloven feet. Their long pointed ears jutted out from the sides of low-sloped, hairless heads with heavy brows and large black eyes. Flat, noseless faces split with the devilish grins of wide, sharp-toothed mouths.
Trolls were monsters of the northern wastes, and anyone raised among the northern tribes had good cause to fear them. Still this sort of organized attack seemed unusual for such a cowardly race. Though Tanys had heard stories of troll warlocks and their dark magic, she had never known one to travel so far from the safety of its lair. The taking of prisoners seemed uncharacteristic of them as well. Trolls usually settled for dragging away a badly wounded warrior or a village child who strayed too far from the wall. Attacking and capturing four healthy warriors showed a courage and organization previously unknown in these savage beasts.
The cord around Tanys’ neck tugged hard as the man in front of her stumbled, pulling the tether tight between them before he regained his footing. Likewise, her bound hands were stretched back behind her by the slowing pace of the last man in the line, the youngest warrior, Carix, who had been wounded in the brief skirmish of the troll ambush. Suddenly, Carix’s strength gave way, and he fell, dragging Tanys to her knees on the ice. She strained against the tightened cord around her throat with a small cry of pain. The line of prisoners slid to a halt, and Tanys’ head slumped down for the first time as she gasped for breath. The two men in front of her knelt upon the ice as well, panting hard, trying to regain what strength they could during the brief stop. Carix lay on his side, moaning, with the reopened wound in his shoulder spattering red blood upon the ice. The warlock shouted something in the hoarse language of trolls, and a troll warrior cursed and kicked at the wounded boy who could only cry out for mercy and feebly try to escape the brutal kicks of his captor. At last, the hunch-backed warlock stabbed a clawed finger toward a cleft in the high rock wall of the pass, and the trolls again forced the prisoners to their feet, moving this time toward the shelter of the rocks.
The trolls set up camp in a hollow of the rocks, barely deep enough to keep the wind off. They built a fire, for which the bound and freezing prisoners were at first most grateful, until the monsters dragged young Carix away from the group and made clear the true purpose of the fire. The boy screamed once as they butchered him and set about the grisly task of cooking him for their dinner. Tanys and the others could only look away in horror and curse the fiends for their cruelty. When the trolls had eaten their fill of man-flesh, one of them approached the remaining prisoners, laughing harshly as he offered them a steaming joint of meat. The human warriors only glared and spat at him in return. Casting aside the scrap of flesh, the troll unslung his heavy wineskin and took a long drink from its mouth. With a wicked smirk, he then offered a taste of the jug to the men. One of the men tried to drink from the skin, his thirst overcoming his hatred of his captor, but immediately he spat out the thick brown liquid and gagged at the taste of it. The trolls laughed heartily at this sight, and the wine skin was pressed to Tanys’ lips next.
The troll wine burned hot and sickeningly sweet in her mouth. Her first instinct was to vomit it back out the way her companion had, but she knew that she would need every ounce of strength to survive. She swallowed hard, choking down the thick fiery wine of the devilkin, forcing herself to think only of the vengeance she might gain by living through another night. The potent fire of the wine spread through her body, filling her with a dizzying warmth as she drank deeply, all the while, her emerald eyes glaring up at the foul troll standing above her. At last, the look of amusement faded from the troll’s face, and he snatched away the wine skin, spilling it down the front of Tanys’ tunic and onto the ground where it melted dark holes in the snow. He cast a hateful glance backwards at her as he returned to the fire where the other trolls were hooting with laughter.
The shapes of the trolls and the men beside her grew hazy and indistinct in Tanys’ eyes. The wine’s fire raged in her body, until, delirious with heat, she fell sideways into the snow and lost consciousness with only the cool sensation of ice against her cheek and the blazing of a bonfire in her chest.
****
Tanys’ reason returned the following day to find she still marched northward into the lifeless wastes beyond the pass. She now walked at the front of the line, the short leash around her neck held by the foremost troll warrior and the two remaining men of her party staggering weakly behind her. The cold no longer seemed to penetrate as deeply. In fact, her brow glistened with sweat from the exertion of the march. The flush of the troll wine lingered still, and a feverish heat radiated from her skin. Though her stomach ached with hunger and nausea, her strength had returned, and she no longer had any fear of the elements. When they stopped again at midday, Tanys again drank of the troll wine and urged the men to do the same. Each was able to gulp down a little of the fiery brew, and they gained a measure of strength from its effects. By the time the gray skies began to darken above the featureless plain of ice, the three warriors of the Raven Tribe walked with their heads high, ready to face whatever lay in store for them ahead.
They pressed on through nightfall as the seemingly eternal winds died away and the sky cleared. There beneath a milky tapestry of countless stars and the shimmering ghost lights of the northern sky, they arrived at a colossal rift in the glacial ice. Nearly a mile wide, the great chasm stretched away, from the northwest to the southeast, deep and impassible. The trolls led their prisoners to the very edge of the escarpment, and Tanys could see a great city of the devilkin sprawling across the floor of the chasm and carved into the ice of its very walls. A narrow, twisting path of treacherous ice led down the canyon wall, and the prisoners passed several troll guard posts hollowed out of the ice wall along the way. The people of her tribe had never guessed at the hidden strength of their ancient foe. Tanys’ heart leapt with fear to realize that these beasts could have easily swept down upon her village at any time and overwhelmed the strongest of their warriors by sheer numbers alone.
As their captors led them down into the city itself, a crowd of trolls began to grow around them, hooting and clambering around the prisoners to pinch them with grubby three-fingered paws and strike them with sticks. A leering troll villager grabbed Tanys’ long hair and pulled hard. Tanys spun as best she could and kicked him solidly in the face, sending him bloody and squealing into the snow. Her captors had to fight back the angry mob to keep them from tearing her apart after that, but no one else tried to grab her hair.
Down at the base of the valley, the trolls lived much as the humans of her tribe did, in low sturdy mud huts. The smoke from cook fires hung like a greasy haze everywhere, and the overpoweringly sweet scent of troll wine permeated everything. Trolls went about their business all around them, working by moon or torchlight. They fashioned planks from raw lumber with iron hatchets, mashed black fruit into steaming kettles, or dried fish on wooden racks. Where they came by such resources in these icy wastes remained a mystery.
Their trek ended at last in the slave pits of the troll city. Huge rifts had been hewn into the frozen earth and these overlaid with a crisscrossed network of wooden bars above, presumably to prevent escape, although the walls of the deep pits seemed so smooth to Tanys’ eyes as to deny any hope of climbing back out again. The only way in or out of the pits was by a rope harness, lowered and raised by a pair of huge trolls, each nearly as big as a man of Tanys’ tribe. Tanys and her companions were freed of their bonds and lowered down into the pit, seeing no more of the trolls that captured them as the rope was pulled back up, leaving the humans ankle-deep in the stinking mud of the pit’s floor. Tanys rubbed at the chaffed flesh of her neck and wrists, her eyes straining in the dim light to find some means of escape from the dark pit.
After a few moments, the walls were illuminated by flickering torchlight, and Tanys turned to see a group of four men approaching, one carrying a torch, the others with wooden cudgels. From their large size and thick fur coats, she guessed them to be men of the Bear Tribe, probably taken the same way as the ravens had been by troll magic. Otnar, one of Tanys’ companions, greeted them, happy to see another human in this foul place, but the bear folk only advanced menacingly with their clubs held ready for a fight.
“Give us your food,” the largest of the bear tribesmen said, “and the woman.”
Otnar’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped into a defensive crouch as he replied, “We have no food, bear-friend, and, believe me, you don’t want the half-breed woman. No man of our tribe will have her. She’s good only for hunting.”
“No tricky words, Blackbird,” the bear warrior growled, “You give us what we want, or you’ll wish you had.”
“Then come and take it, bear man,” Otnar said, “but remember that I warned you.”
The bear folk fell upon them with frightening savagery, and though her companions fought hard, they were still weakened by their ordeal and staggered under the blows of the mighty bear men’s cudgels. For her part, Tanys dodged to and fro, barely avoiding the massive grasping hands of the bear man leader. His rage grew by the moment as her speed and dexterity made him a fool. With no sure footing to deliver a kick, she struck with her fists. Each strike left another bruising welt on his scarred face, but did little to stop his relentless advance.
“Run, Tanys!” a bloodied Otnar screamed as he fell beneath the hammering blows of the bear men, and though she did not know where to go, she ran.
“Get her!” the scar-faced bear tribesman shouted, and the other warriors turned their attention from the beaten raven men on the ground and took up the pursuit of Tanys as she fled.
The slave pits were a series of intersecting rifts with small shelters gouged into the muddy walls. Here and there, small groups of people huddled together for warmth around meager fires, but there was no place to hide, and none of the other slaves would even lift their heads to meet her gaze when she cried out for help. At last, she found herself cornered in a dead-end passageway, the bear men backing her slowly toward the wall as they advanced with their bloody cudgels ready.
“No more running, little bird,” the bear man said, and the others laughed with him.
Tanys looked around for anything she could use as a weapon, wishing fervently that she still had her blades, but nothing could be found as she backed away, rapidly running out of options. Suddenly she stumbled, tripping over a small man huddled under a blanket against the back wall. Tanys found herself lying across his knees and looking up into a frighteningly grotesque face.
At first she thought the stranger was a troll. His face and hairless head were covered in dark gray tattoos of swirling runic designs. His large angular ears and dark eyes seemed almost inhuman, and his broad grin showed gleaming white teeth that had been filed to points. As she scrambled clear of the strange little man, she realized that she had spilled his bowl of soup when she tripped over him. He rose to his feet, casting away the tattered blanket to reveal a bare chest of rippling muscles likewise covered with gray rune tattoos. Ragged canvas pants hung from his waist, sporting sinister dark reddish stains. His long fingers ended in pointed yellow nails that now flexed into claws as his muscular body hunched in preparation for a fight.
“Stay clear of this Beast Man!” the bear tribesman called out, “She’s ours!”
“She ruin Jorva’s supper!” the tattooed man hissed through dagger-like teeth, “she owe to Jorva now.”
“Stupid halfwit!” the bear man spat, “take him down too!”
The bear tribesmen moved in to surround Tanys and the tattooed stranger as they had the raven folk. One of the bear men stepped in quick with a whistling overhand blow at Jorva’s face, but the little man moved with blinding speed, sidestepping the blow and leaping upon the back of the larger man. The tribesman screamed as the monstrous dwarf tore the man’s right ear away with his jagged teeth. The warrior’s club dropped into the mud as he tried to shake Jorva from his back.
Tanys saw her chance and dived for the club. She had never yet met the man who could best her with a weapon in her hand. The leader of the bear tribesmen lunged at her, swinging hard with his club, but she turned aside the blow with her own cudgel and sent him sprawling in the mud with a kick to the back of his knee. She spun around and felled another man with a lightning-quick blow to the side of his head. A horrible shriek drew her attention to the remaining bear warrior who staggered away from the fight with both hands clutched to the ruins of his face, as Jorva danced and giggled through red lips.
The leader of the bear tribesmen rose to his feet again to find his men mangled and staggering from the battle. He spat a curse and leveled his club at Tanys. “You’ll regret this… both of you!” he shouted. As he turned to follow his men away, Jorva leapt upon the bear tribesman’s back. The big man had only time for one gurgling scream as the dwarf snapped his head back and tore out his throat.
Standing over the massive body of his foe, Jorva turned, wiping the gore from his lips, to smile redly at Tanys. “Jorva not like loose ends,” he said.
“Thank you,” Tanys said, brushing a long strand of hair from her eyes with her free hand, still holding the club ready, in case the little man turned on her as well.
“Was fun,” Jorva grinned, “You ruin Jorva’s supper. You owe Jorva now.”
Tanys tightened her grip on the club and wondered if she could outrun the little man or if she would have to fight him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I would like to repay you, but I don’t have any food.”
“Jorva have plenty food,” he replied, dragging the dead man away from his camp, “you pay back another way.”
“What did you have in mind?” Tanys asked warily, still not lowering her club.
“Neck rub,” Jorva answered, still grinning.
“Neck rub?” Tanys was taken aback.
“Jorva get bad pain in neck sometimes.” He said, picking up his blanket and rummaging through a large bag that apparently contained his personal belongings.
Tanys stared at the tattooed dwarf, now streaked with blood from the fight. His massive muscles flexed tightly beneath his gray-lined skin as he wiped his face with a filthy rag. Were she to come within arm’s reach of him, she might very well become the replacement for his spilled supper. Still, she could think of no other options.
“I guess I can rub your neck,” she said, hesitantly, taking a step towards him with her free hand outstretched.
“Hah,” Jorva laughed, “Neck not hurt now! Just have fight. Jorva feel fine. You rub neck later. Eat now.” With that, he began to rummage through his bag in earnest, pulling out strips of dried meat, bits of moldy fruit, and a large jug that sloshed wetly as he dumped it on the ground beside him.
Tanys couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the little killer, humming tunelessly as he prepared a slave’s feast, and soon she was laughing along with him as the tension of the fight seeped away. “Listen, Jorva,” she said, “I truly appreciate your help, and I do owe you a neck rub. I would also like to share your supper, but I came here with two men of my tribe, and I must go and find them now.”
“Bring friends!” Jorva said “Plenty food for us!”
Tanys collected the remaining clubs from the bloody mud and tucked them under one arm as she retraced her steps back toward the place where the raven men had met the bear men. Some of the slaves huddling beside their fires looked up in surprise as she passed them again. Her icy glare shamed them, and none could meet her burning eyes for more than a moment before looking away. She found Otnar and his brother Klas badly beaten and kneeling in the mud, each man’s face a mass of bruises. Seeing her return, unharmed, filled their eyes with amazement and perhaps a little fear. She cast two of the clubs at their feet and told them to follow her. The remaining two clubs she tucked into her belt as she lead them back to Jorva’s camp.
“What of the bear men?” Otnar asked, his swollen lip slurring his words.
“Maimed or dead,” she replied coldly.
“How?” Klas asked.
“I made a new friend,” she said, “another half-breed.”
Chapter 2
Tanys’ body ached when she awoke the following morning. Jorva was poking her in the arm with one of his clawlike fingernails as he knelt beside her where she had slept on a bed of thin blankets. As she rubbed her eyes and sat up to face him, he offered her a drink from his jug. The troll wine chased away the cold and sharpened her senses as she rose to her feet. She was already becoming used to the syrupy brew and its effects no longer dulled her mind. Jorva was grinning and pointing up to a hole in the roof from which a rope harness now lowered towards them.
“You go up there!” Jorva said excitedly, “Jorva go too!”
Tanys glanced worriedly up at the descending rope and collected her clubs, wondering what the trolls wanted with her and how she might fight her way out.
Jorva reached out and took the clubs from her hands. His movement was gentle, but the strength of his grip pulled the weapons easily from her grasp. “Trolls just take sticks,” he said, “Use what trolls can’t take.” He emphasized his point with a broad grin of his filed teeth.
“Jorva” she said, “I need these clubs to fight them.”
Jorva made a rude noise as he reached for the rope harness and looped it around Tanys’ waist. “You learn fight like Jorva! Jorva teach you how.”
“Why are they taking us, Jorva?” she asked, as the massive trolls above pulled the rope tight, lifting her off her feet.
“Jorva go fight!” the tattooed dwarf exclaimed, hopping excitedly from foot to foot, “Maybe you go fight too!”
****
Tanys watched through the bars of her cage as Jorva fought in the high-walled muddy pit that served as an arena for the amusement of the gathered throngs of trolls. The little man fought alone and unarmed against a group of three large slaves armed with daggers, one of them the man whose face Jorva had mangled the previous night. She watched in admiration of his skill as Jorva easily dispatched the first, shaking the resolve of the other two men. By the time the second fell, the man with the torn face was gibbering in fear and running around the edge of the gladiator’s pit trying to find a way out. The troll spectators howled with laughter and bloodlust, cheering the dwarf on. Tanys looked away as Jorva moved in for the kill.
Tanys stood alone in a wooden cage guarded by two trolls carrying barbed spears. They had stripped her to the waist, leaving only her thin leather pants and fur-lined boots. She crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and tried to prepare herself for whatever was to come. Feeling eyes upon her, she looked up to where the fat troll chieftain sat on a balcony overlooking the spectacle of death below. The obese troll’s attention was riveted on the death throes of the man Jorva was killing, but beside him stood a tall gaunt man. The man was watching her.
The man was unnervingly pale. His skin was devoid of all color, glistening white in the gray light of morning. The long straight hair, which hung to his narrow shoulders, gleamed almost silver in hue. His large dark eyes lingered on Tanys’ body, his angular face expressionless and unreadable. She felt her skin flush hotly, feeling completely naked before his scrutiny.
It was hard to hold the man’s unsettling gaze, but Tanys could not bear for him to see her look away. She closed her trembling hands into fists and forced them down to her sides, raising her head and arching her back proudly as she met his burning gaze with equal resolve. His eyes settled upon her breasts, full and defiant, russet nipples hard in the cold air. A smile played on his pallid lips, and, at last, he looked away.
So this was the reason the trolls were so organized. They were in league with the ghasts, the fabled folk of the rumored ice caverns far to the north. They were the maggot folk who lived by dark magic in a land without sunlight. If the ghasts controlled the trolls now, Tanys’ people were doomed.
The door to Tanys’ cage swung wide, and a barbed spear tip pressed hard into her backside. Walking proudly from the wooden cage, she moved at the prompting of her guards to the edge of the arena pit. She knelt and retrieved a piece of twine from the ground to tie back her hair into a long ponytail. Then, raising both hands in an obscene gesture towards the yammering crowd, she jumped down into the pit.
Nearby, Jorva cheered wildly for her as the trolls hoisted him from the pit by a rope harness. She took heart from his childlike enthusiasm, determined now that she would fight bravely, even if this fight was to be her last.
“See,” Jorva shouted gleefully as they dragged him back towards the slave pits, “you fight now too, just like Jorva!”
She smiled back at him and waited until he was out of sight before she knelt and retrieved two daggers from the bodies of the men Jorva had killed. Tanys strode proudly around the outer circle of the pit. She wasn’t looking for an escape; she knew there was none. She was working the stiffness from her muscles and working up the nerve to do what she would have to do to survive. She casually flicked aside the bits of trash and stones that rained down on her from the angry spectators above, testing the weight of the scavenged blades. At last she walked back to the center of the ring. She turned to face the chieftain’s balcony and made a gesture of drawing one her blades across her bared throat and then pointed the knife at the fat troll. The chieftain howled with rage and hurled his wine cup into the pit, landing it far short of the raven-haired girl. The tall, pale ghast beside him simply smiled again and nodded his approval behind the chieftain’s back.
Tanys winked at him and turned her back with a flippant toss of her long black ponytail. Raising her knives to the sky, she howled with primal rage. The piercing war-shriek of the Raven Tribe split the frigid air of the arena, stunning the assembled trolls into momentary silence. Tanys dropped into a defensive stance and began to circle the arena once more, this time shifting her weight from foot to foot in the deadly blade-dance her father had taught her in happier times.
Again a shriek filled the air, this time utterly inhuman. Tanys’ blood ran cold at the sound of it. As a seasoned huntress, she knew the sound all too well. Another wooden cage had been rolled to the edge of the pit. This cage, low and thick-barred, now tipped forward over the edge, and a troll guard sprang the catch. A monstrous mass of bristly hair, deadly spines, and ripping tusks tumbled to the floor of the arena, landing hard with a painful squeal. The thrashback boar was the largest Tanys had ever seen. His scarred snout sported four eight inch tusks, splintered by many battles but still very lethal. What worried Tanys most was the thick mane of yard-long black spines that sprouted from the monster’s back. Their poison robbed even the strongest hunter of all strength, and many luckless men had been devoured alive by such beasts once the poison had done its work on them. It was said the boars knew the effects of their poison and took their time in feeding once their meals had ceased to struggle.
She silently mouthed a curse and crouched, low and still, to avoid attracting the near-sighted beast’s attention. At first it seemed to work. The boar ambled over to the remains of the torn-faced man and nuzzled the body hungrily. The animal was soon driven back by trolls who pelted it with rocks, driving it across the arena towards the human girl. He sniffed the air heavily and turned to face her. Tanys knew that the time to fight or die had come at last.
Squealing in rage, the thrashback closed the distance to Tanys with terrifying speed. She dove out of the way, only dimly aware of the distant roar of the troll spectators. Tanys’ world narrowed, shrinking down to only the ravenous boar that circled even now to charge again, the blades in her hands, and her body that moved like rain, swept aside by the storm of the monster’s advance.
She soon realized that the beast was driving her, cutting off the arena to her, and herding her against the wall where he first entered the pit. This beast was a veteran of the arena, well accustomed to the desperate dance of its prey. This was how the trolls fed the beast, and she was his next meal. Too late she realized her mistake as the beast’s next charge forced her too close to the edge of the pit. She spun, flattening herself against the wall, yelping in pain as the bristly flank of the animal brushed roughly against her in passing. The touch of his back spines left only raking red welts on her bare stomach as he rushed by, but a thick spine from his shoulder ripped open the thin leather of her pants, drawing bright blood from her thigh.
Tanys staggered back toward the center of the ring, casting a hateful glance at the hooting throngs of trolls above. Already the toxin was at work in her wound. The flesh of her thigh throbbed and grew pale around the long gash left by the single spine. She knew that, within moments, her leg would cease to work, and then the beast would come for her.
She watched him as he circled her. The boar knew that she had been stung, and he was waiting now. He would feast upon her only after his poison had rendered the girl helpless. Tanys’ leg gave way beneath her, and she fell to her hands and knees in the cold mud of the arena. All around, the trolls began to chant, “Thru-Sha, Thru-Sha, Thru-Sha!” This was the name of the beast-god to whom she had been given in sacrifice. The boar crept nearer now, sensing her failing strength. Long strings of drool dripped from his yellow tusks as he anticipated her taste.
Summoning her dying strength, Tanys rose upon her knees and hurled a dagger across the arena with a howl of rage. The knife buried itself deep in the shoulder of the beast, driving him suddenly insane with pain. The boar lunged forward in full charge, and Tanys spread her arms as though to embrace her death. Her remaining knife flashed once as, with her last measure of strength, she flung herself clear of the killing tusks and collapsed onto her back in the well-churned mud of the arena floor.
Six long spines lay embedded in her side from hip to ribs. Her arms lay useless beside her. Tanys’ back arched once as she tried to draw her knees up protectively, but the only movement that followed was the gentle rise and fall of her mud-streaked breasts as she fought for breath against the crushing weight of the thrashback’s poison. With great effort, Tanys turned her head to watch the boar as he circled again, drawing closer to her. She tried to scream, but only a raspy whisper escaped her softly parted lips.
Ever closer the boar approached, his breathing now labored and rasping as well. At last she could feel his hot breath upon her face and smell the stench of blood and death in it. The wet snout drifted down, savoring the scent of her body as he nuzzled her. She couldn’t even close her eyes, yet every sense seemed completely alive. The burning of the spines in her side, the hot wetness of the boar’s saliva pooling in her navel, the cold mud of the arena floor on her naked back, she felt it all. It would not be an easy death. Tanys steeled her will against the first touch of the beast’s teeth in her flesh.
There was no bite to follow. Instead, the animal backed away, wheezing, and glassy-eyed. Thru-Sha turned a slow circle and lay down in the mud, revealing the pommel of Tanys’ dagger protruding from the side of his neck. The arena watched in stunned silence as the beast-god of the devilkin coughed up a gout of black blood and died.
Suddenly shrieks of outrage erupted from the walls of the arena, but inside, Tanys was laughing, wishing that Jorva had been able to see her kill the boar or that she’d been able to tell him of her victory before she died. Perhaps he would learn of it anyway. It was important to her that he knew. Somewhere beyond the trolls’ howls of rage, she became aware of someone politely clapping his hands in appreciation of her success. Her eyes moved again to the chieftain’s balcony where the pale ghast smiled and watched her with his dark eyes. Then a troll warlock stood astride her, angrily shouting out a spell, and consciousness left her.
Chapter 3
Tanys awoke to the scent of perfumed incense and the damp warmth of a cloth pressed against her side. Opening her eyes, she found an olive-skinned human girl kneeling beside the silken cot where Tanys lay. The girl’s hands moved deftly, tending Tanys’ wounds with gentle skill. Strangely, there was no pain. She smiled at Tanys, seeing her awake. The girl’s almond-shaped eyes were almost violet in hue, and her short reddish hair was pulled back with tiny golden chains into a tight bun, leaving only a few wisps of hair curling down to frame her face. The girl’s face seemed almost fragile, so delicate were her features, but her dark lips were full, and a hint of pearly white teeth flashed in her smile before she lowered her head again, tending to her patient. Tanys would have assumed the girl to be a healer, but she was not dressed like any of the fur-clad shamans who festooned themselves with ropes of bone fetishes while they plied their trade among the northern tribes. Instead the girl wore only a gossamer dress of thinnest green silk, covering her body, but hiding nothing. Pale silk stretched tightly over the girl’s small breasts as she leaned across to dip the washcloth again into a basin of warm water, the dark shadows of her budding nipples showing through. Woven into the silk were tiny red gems that sparkled like fresh blood in the flickering candlelight of the dark, but richly furnished room where Tanys’ bed lay. A thin golden chain served as a belt for the girl’s dress, gathering up the folds of transparent silk around her narrow waist, allowing them to cascade down into the shadowy pool of the girl’s lap.
Tanys looked politely away, flushing slightly, as it was not the custom of the women of the Raven Tribe to go about so lightly attired, realizing only then that she herself was wearing nothing at all. Tanys lay in bed with only a blanket of the softest fur covering her body. The other girl had pulled the blanket down to Tanys’ waist, treating the wounds from the boar quills which now seemed almost completely healed over, leaving only small whitish bumps where they had penetrated her skin. Tanys wondered how long she’d been asleep. Finishing with Tanys’ chest, the girl’s hand slipped down to the blanket at Tanys’ waist, starting to pull it down further. Tanys shot out a hand, clasping the girl’s wrist to prevent her from doing so.
The girl looked startled at first, but then smiled and spoke for the first time. “My name is Misha,” she whispered softly, “and I have been assigned to supervise your recovery with my humble skills of healing. I mean you no harm at all.” The girl lowered her violet eyes beneath thick dark lashes and made no further move to pull the blanket away, but neither did she withdraw her delicate hand from the furs at Tanys’ hip.
“Who… ‘assigned’ you to this task, Misha,” Tanys asked.
“My lord Carathan,” she replied, “He saw you at the arena and was most impressed by your bravery.”
“The ghast?” Tanys hissed.
Misha flinched and answered again, a touch of anger in her voice, “That is what men have called my lord’s people, but it is a spiteful and ugly term for them. I would beg you not to use it in my lord’s presence.”
Tanys considered for a long moment. As far as her people were concerned, the ghasts were monsters of ancient legends. She had never personally seen a ghast or known anyone who had. Though the legends spoke of them as fearful sorcerers and servants of the darkest powers, Tanys had never been directly harmed or threatened by a ghast. Indeed it seemed that she had now been helped at the request of one. There was an old saying among her people that even the greatest of enemies would climb into bed together, if the night got cold enough. There was no place colder than the lifeless wastes beyond the Nedorran Pass.
“I’m sorry,” Tanys said, releasing Misha’s hand. The girl smiled again and pulled back the blanket, revealing the thin white scar that arced across Tanys’ leg, curving from the outer thigh, almost all the way up to the soft triangle of raven-dark hair. Tanys watched in fascination as the girl dipped her finger into an ivory jar of creamy balm. As her oiled fingers traced along the path of the old wound, the scar seemed to fade even further from Tanys’ flesh.
“Is this magic?” Tanys asked in amazement.
“Only of the weakest sort,” Misha laughed, “I am no sorceress.”
“And lord Carathan?” Tanys asked.
Misha studied her for a long moment before answering. “All of the Gerridaan, my Master’s people, are sorcerers of sort. Even the basest of them knows a little magic. It is their very nature.”
“And how much magic does this Carathan know?” Tanys asked.
Misha smiled slyly in return. “He is the most powerful sorcerer I’ve ever known.”
“And what of you?” Tanys asked, covering herself again with the blanket as the girl began to put away her healing balms, “You’re not one of the gha… Gerridaan.”
“No,” she replied, “I come from the land of A-Let, far to the south. I was taken from there as a girl by Atarcian slavers and passed from master to master. It was in the court of a depraved blood-mage that lord Carathan found me and purchased my freedom.”
“You are not a slave then?” Tanys asked.
“I am free to leave him at any time,” Misha said softly, “but I no longer wish to.”
“You love him?”
Misha’s cheeks flashed hotly in the dim light, and she frowned as she collected her things and stood. “We had better get you bathed and dressed. Lord Carathan wished to see you when you awoke.”
Tanys smiled knowingly and wrapped the blanket around herself as she sat up. Placing her bare feet on the cool planks of the polished wood floor, she slowly stood up. She felt a bit dizzy, and her legs were still weak. She thought at first that she only imagined the floor was moving beneath her, and then she realized that the entire bedroom was bouncing slightly up and down.
“Where are we?” Tanys demanded.
“We are aboard my lord’s ice ship.” Misha explained. Then, seeing her words meant nothing to the raven girl, Misha moved across the room to pull back the heavy brocade curtains revealing the frosty glass panes of a large window.
Tanys carefully walked to the window and looked out onto an endless field of ice, moving slowly past as though the entire building were being carried along on a wagon. Pressing her forehead to the cold glass, she looked down to try to see more of the structure of the place, but the wall curved inward below her, and the packed snow sparkled as it passed by nearly twenty feet below.
“It’s basically a very large sled.” Misha said.
Tanys cast her an incredulous gaze. “Where are my clothes?”
“This way.” Misha said, leading her across the room to a large brass tub. “Let me draw the water for your bath.”
“I didn’t ask for a bath,” Tanys growled, “I just want my clothes.”
“You’ve been in bed for four days,” Misha insisted, “You need a bath.”
“Four days?” Tanys was shocked, “What of my companions?”
“I’m sorry,” Misha said softly, “I know nothing of your companions. Lord Carathan paid quite highly for your freedom from the war-bred. You would surely have died if he had not.”
Tanys studied the resolve in the girl’s face, and then decided to make the best of it. “I’ll take a bath.”
Misha smiled and walked to an intricately carved wooden cabinet. Opening it revealed a shimmering array of crystal jars and vials displayed therein. Taking a golden-stoppered flask from the lowest shelf, the girl opened it and began to pour what was apparently steaming hot water from it into the tub. The water continued to pour out long after it should have emptied, and Misha looked up with a twinkle in her eye. “My lord is a very good magician.”
At last the tub was filled with hot water, and Misha capped the bottle and returned it to the shelf. Next, taking a faceted glass jar filled with pink sand, she cast a handful into the water that now fizzed and bubbled as the powder dissolved. She returned the jar to the shelf and unclasped the slim chain at her waist, setting it aside. With a tug at the lace around her throat, the girl’s dress fell away, and she turned to face Tanys again, naked and holding a large sponge in one hand.
“Oh, no!” Tanys gasped, “I am quite capable of bathing myself, thank you anyway!” She snatched the sponge from the girl’s grasp and stepped clear of her fur blanket, handing it to Misha in the hopes of keeping her occupied in some less invasive manner.
Settling into the bath was a wonderful sensation of warmth, edged with a flickering pain where the hot water touched the scars of her battle with Thru-Sha. Scrubbing the soft sponge over her skin, Tanys realized that someone must have bathed her after the battle while she lay unconscious. She had little doubt by whom as she cast a suspicious glance at the strange girl of A-Let that knelt beside the tub. Misha watched with her large violet eyes, chin resting on delicate hands folded together on the lip of the tub.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Tanys asked.
“No,” Misha answered, “My lord sent me to care for you in whatever manner you required.”
“Well I require you to go get my clothes.”
Misha giggled and got to her feet. Her small breasts bounced lightly as she pranced away, a mischievous look in her eyes.
“Wouldn’t hurt you to find some clothes too,” Tanys muttered under her breath.
When the girl returned, she found Tanys already out of the tub and drying herself with a large towel she found in the cabinet. “That was fast,” Misha said disappointedly.
“I wasn’t very dirty.” Tanys drawled sarcastically. Looking at the bundle of black cloth in Misha’s arms, she said, “Those aren’t my clothes.”
“Lord Carathan made them for you.” Misha beamed.
“He’s a seamstress too?”
“No,” she said, frowning, “He’s just a very good magician.”
Tanys had never owned any magical clothing before, and she was very tired of being without clothes, so she took the bundle, thanking Misha and suggesting that she might find her own garments somewhere in the vicinity of the tub. Tanys began to dress herself in the wizard’s clothes as Misha made a point of not getting dressed until after she had dropped a small piece of charcoal into the water of the tub. The gurgling sounds that came from the tub thereafter left little doubt in Tanys’ mind that the ghast’s magic could empty a tub as quickly as fill it.
The bundle of clothing given her proved to be a two-piece bodysuit of thin black silk that stretched to fit her body tightly, leaving little, if anything, to the imagination. The legs of the thin silk pants stretched all the way down with silken stirrups to wrap around the soles of her feet, with only her toes and heels uncovered. Likewise her left arm was sheathed in black fabric that wrapped around her palm, leaving her fingers free to move. The high neck came up just under her chin, but a diagonal slash running from the hollow of her throat, down across her right breast, left her right arm and shoulder completely exposed. Laced throughout the entire fabric of the suit, thin gray threads formed a multitude of tiny spiraling cobwebs that blended together into a single hypnotic pattern.
“He must like spiders.” Tanys joked.
“It is made of spider silk.” Misha replied, slipping on the pale green dress again over her head.
“They must have some very large spiders where he comes from.” Tanys laughed.
“You have no idea,” Misha replied with no hint of humor in her voice.
Tanys’ skin crawled a little as she imagined the source of the strange fabric that now clung tightly to her every curve. She forced the thought out her mind and asked, “Where are the rest of my clothes?”
Misha laughed out loud, and crossed the room to a large armoire. “You will need a coat. My master is on deck now, and he’ll want to see you right away.”
****
Tanys followed Misha up two short flights of steps to reach the deck of Carathan’s ice ship. They stepped into the blasting winds of the lifeless wastes, and Tanys shivered beneath the massive white bear pelt that Misha had given her to wear. Strangely though, the wooden deck seemed unnaturally warm and dry beneath her bare toes that peeked from the tips of the spider silk stockings. She found herself standing on the wide deck of a mastless ship. High on the forecastle, a small group of men stood likewise clad in furs, looking out over the frozen landscape as the great ship skipped and jostled easily across the face of the ice.
“My lord,” Misha called out over the blast of the wind, “Your guest has awakened.”
Lord Carathan of the Gerridaan turned to regard them with his large dark eyes. He whispered something as he turned, and the wind seemed to die away, leaving only a distant whistling moan to mark its passage. He drew back the ermine cowl of his fur-trimmed leather jacket, revealing the long silver hair that framed a pallid face with high cheeks and aquiline nose. His features might have seemed arrogant or cruel were it not for the subtle smile that curved his thin lips upon seeing the girls approach.
“Thank you, Misha,” he spoke with a voice like the wind whispering against the walls on long winter nights, “I would be lost without you.”
The Leddite girl beamed at him, bowing her head slightly as she backed away, leaving Tanys to face him alone.
“I trust Misha has nursed you well,” he said, turning his attention to the raven girl.
“I am very grateful for her healing touch,” Tanys answered, “and for your kindness as well.”
“I hope the clothes fit you well,” he said, “My talents as a tailor are meager at best.”
“They fit well enough,” Tanys smirked. She watched for a moment as his eyes flickered over her body hopefully, his brow furrowed slightly in anticipation. Then she let the bearskin coat drop away and stood before him, her head held high as his eyes lingered on every soft curve of her silk-clad form. Smiling slyly, she lifted her arms and slowly twirled that he might enjoy his handiwork from every angle, her long, raven hair swung and bounced as she stopped again facing him, and cascaded over her shoulder as she bowed her head slightly in the manner of Misha’s sign of respect.
Carathan laughed aloud then, a rough but sincere laugh, and from the looks of incredulity on the faces of his guardsmen, this was not a common occurrence. “I knew I was going to like you,” he chuckled, “and by what name should I call you, daughter of the North?”
“I am Tanys of the Raven Tribe,” she replied, “and you are lord Carathan of the Gerridaan, I am told.”
“Indeed I am,” he said, “and I welcome you aboard my ship. Please think of it as your home.”
“Am I then your prisoner?” Tanys asked cautiously, “I am told you paid quite highly for me.”
“You are my guest,” Carathan replied with a crooked smile, “I am not the sort of man who finds much value in prisoners. And, as my guest, I would beg your indulgence in one further matter.”
He called for the tallest of his men to retrieve a leather bundle from a nearby chest and carry it to Tanys. The man, a gaunt pale Gerridaan like the rest of Carathan’s men, seemed taken aback by this request, as though Carathan had insulted him deeply. He hesitated a moment. Then, seeing the cold severity of Carathan’s expression, he bowed his head and did as he was told. The smoldering look he gave Tanys as he handed her the leather-wrapped bundle recalled to her mind Jorva’s grim words regarding loose ends.
Tanys unrolled the bundle and found inside it a breathtaking pair of long daggers, forged of black steel and sheathed in twin scabbards of intricately worked blood red leather. A supple belt of black leather bound the pair together. Tanys’ heart leapt as she pulled one from its sheath, admiring the swirling patterns of folded black steel in a blade obviously forged by a master. Her father had spoken of such blades, from a time long ago, but she had never dreamed of seeing one. She could only laugh with delight as the sorcerer bade her strap the belt around her waist in acceptance of his gift.
The steel clasp of a belt that seemed fitted to her hips closed with a soft click, and she again met the dark-eyed gaze of her pallid benefactor. “Thank you!” was all she could say. The man who had handed her the bundle sneered in disdain as he turned his back on her and began climbing the steps back to where his master stood. He froze at the base of the steps, as his companions moved with drawn swords to block the landing above.
“I’m happy you like the blades, dear girl,” Carathan’s voice was cold as he moved to the railing to look down upon the tall guardsman standing bewildered at the base of the stairs, “they are fitting weapons for my new blood guard.”
“What?” the guardsman hissed, spinning to face Tanys again, “this she-mongrel your blood guard? I am your man my lord!”
“You are that no longer, Thael, if ever you were,” Carathan scoffed, tossing a carved ivory tube to the deck at the man’s feet. From the open end of the tube a scrap of parchment protruded. “Did you think I wouldn’t intercept your communications?” Carathan demanded with a weary tone in his voice.
“My lord,” Thael stammered, “I know nothing of this… I…”
“Give me the name of the one that bought your soul, Thael, and I will send it quickly to its master.” Carathan’s voice was a dangerous rasp.
“Voidling bitch!” Thael spat, as he spun again to face the startled Tanys, yanking his sword from its sheath in murderous rage.
“You’d better kill him, girl,” Carathan said, tiredly, “It’s your job now.”
Tanys needed no further urging. A flash of black steel brought both blades to her hands and she danced the blade-dance with the ghast named Thael. With an incoherent shriek, the ghast hurled himself toward Tanys, his sword flashing in the eerie half-light of the polar sky. Sidestepping his slash, Tanys raked a black dagger across his arm. The dagger opened a bright gouge in the man’s strange armor. What looked like boiled leather armor proved to be a soft but resilient metal that flexed and moved as easily as heavy cloth.
Thael laughed harshly as he turned to face her again. This time he thrust high, a reckless jab at Tanys’ face, easily parried, but it was merely a feint. As she raised her arm to block the attack, he shifted his momentum and dropped low, sweeping Tanys’ legs with a spinning kick that sent her crashing hard to the deck on her back.
With a howl of triumph, Thael swung his blade down upon the fallen girl. The wooden planks of the deck splintered beneath the blow as Tanys rolled barely clear of it. On her feet again, Tanys silently vowed never to underestimate an opponent again. Their blades clashed once more, and they parted. The armor covering Thael’s ribs bore a long silver gash, and the silk covering Tanys’ left forearm hung open in a long slash, a bright red streak across her skin marking where the ghast’s blade had touched. Tanys cast a withering glance toward the pale sorcerer who had dressed her in a silken nightshirt before pitting her in battle against a man clad in liquid steel. Then Thael lunged again.
“I’ll feed your tripe to the dinghasts!” he spat, as she turned his thrust and clipped his ear with the pommel of her dagger as he passed. Roaring again, he came in high, and Tanys moved to parry the blow. This time, however, she was prepared when he reversed the swing, spinning his sword into an upward thrust. She jumped clear of the disemboweling strike then leapt in, delivering a shattering kick to the side of his knee.
Thael shrieked in agony as he collapsed to the deck, lashing out wildly with his sword to keep the raven girl at bay. “You’ll pay for that, rat-whore!” he screamed through his tears. Tanys timed the speed of his swings and stepped in quickly, catching the flat of his blade against her thigh and breaking his wrist with the back of her dagger’s blade as she levered his sword from his grasp. She kicked the sword across the deck, and it disappeared over the edge. Sheathing a dagger, she stepped behind the fallen ghast, grabbing a handful of his silvery hair and pulling hard, forcing him to face Carathan as she pressed the edge of her other blade to Thael’s throat.
Suddenly a look of panic filled the man’s face and he began to beg, “No Milady! Please, I can still win!” His eyes were wide with terror and his good hand clawed at his collar.
“Milady?” Tanys scoffed, “What happened to ‘rat-whore’?”
“He’s not talking to you,” Carathan shouted warningly, a touch of fear in his voice, “Get clear of him girl! Get clear!”
Tanys looked down in confusion at the man squirming in her grasp. Thael continued to claw at the opening of his collar, now pulling it away to reveal a red crystal pendant that hung on a gold chain around his neck. The crystal glowed like fire, and it was sinking into the man’s chest like a hot coal on ice. “Nooooo! Please, Mistress!” the doomed ghast screamed. Tanys dropped him to the deck and scrambled away, muttering charms of protection from dark wizardry.
Thael lay writhing on his back, clawing at the smoking hole in his chest and screaming for what seemed an eternity as Tanys looked on in horror. Then, with an inhuman howl, he died as his chest exploded apart, flinging gobbets of blood and viscera across the deck. Tanys shuddered, wondering what powers could do such a thing to a man, and she wiped a drop of his blood from her face as she returned her dagger to its scabbard.